An Uncertain Nocturnal Cartography

I dream of Worcester again. A light-blue dream, of being at Joe Bird's house, looking out of a dream-window at a dream garden I can't remember. This proliferation by Worcester into my nightly wanderings causes a strange shift. I feel as if I am dreaming Brighton, whilst sleeping in the dream of Worcester. Always at the base of London Road hill, look up through a darkening autumn evening in my mid twenties.
I remember the rain there, the vast night and that circling sense of a dark and dreaming countryside beyond the city limits.